@shrapnelle's shouting echoes deep within the empty halls. Fortunately, the exposition area is isolated from the front desk, and the curator is slacking off in their room over their queue of RoboTube videos, not expecting such a rowdy bunch to invade the exhibition this early during the work week.
It is a whole another story on crowded nights prior weekends, but some bots do not need extra charge in their system to act extra.
"What? This shit? Wouldn't know it's not supposed to be that way," she comments, looking at the shards. "Like hell anyone's gonna notice!"
"Although.."
Her optic stops on the small tablet, which provides the info on the exhibit. There is a little picture next to its description that certainly does not look like a pile of shards. Quickly, Shrapnelle sticks the flat tip of her claw under the transparent sheet of plastic to fish the info card out.
"I'm an artist," she announces in a self-important voice. "Got this! 'Nyone got a black marker?"
Eros seemed to calm down when he saw Shrapnelle seemed to be on his side, “Art all looks the same to me anyways.” he muttered quietly under his breath, ignoring the hard elbow by his sister in his side.
Armina snorted and out of her subspace pulled a little bag filled with markers, mostly makeup markers which she handed to Shrapnelle, “Whatcha gonna do, girl?”
